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TWO DISCOURS_ES 



PREACHED BEFORE 



THE FIRST CONGREGATIONAL SOCIETY 
IN MEDFORD; 



ONE 



UPON LEAVING THE OLD CHURCH; 



^ND ONE 



■i^ 



AT THE DEDICATION OF THE NEW. 



BY CALEB STETSON, 

Minister of the Society. 



PRINTED BY ISAAC R. BUTTS 






1840. 



■ \a 



'M 



TWO 



DISCOURSES 



PREACHED BEFORE 



THE FIRST CONGREGATIONAL SOCIETY 
IN M E D F O R D ; 



ONE 



UPON LEAVING THE OLD CHURCH; 



AND ONE 



AT THE DEDICATION OF THE NEW 



BY CALEB STETSON 
Ministejc^ uf the. Society. 




PRINTED BY ISAAC R. BUTTS 
1S40. 



r 



A DISCOURSE 



TAKING LEAVE OF THE OLD CHURCH, 



DELIVERED ON 



SUNDAY, 31 AY 12, 1839. 



DISCOURSE 1.* 



UPON LKAVING THE OLD CHURCH 



1 Chronicles, xvii, 1. 

Now it caino to pass, as David sat in his house, that he said to Nathan, the 
projilR't, Lo ! 1 (Iwtll in a house of cedars, but the Ark of the Covenant of the 
Lord reiiiaiiicth under curtains. 

This is the expression of a very natural feeling. The 
minstrel king was fervent and imaginative, full of 
poetic inspiration and of holy zeal for the worship of 
tlie God of Israel. As he sat in his apartments, sur- 
rounded with all the magnificence of Eastern Royalty, 
lie jia'mfully felt the contrast between the jrrandcur of 
his own palace and the lowliness of the Tabernacle, 
that sheltered the consecrated Ark of the Covenant. 

There are few persons of any devout sentiment, 
who do not sympathize with the feelings of David. We 
know indeed that there is a temple not made with hands, 
holier than any which is built of wood and stones. 
There the Divine Presence most intimately dwells; 
and there is the Altar of Sacrifice, that never moulders 
away by age nor is broken down by violence. The 

■ This Discourse, which was delivered in two parts on account of its length, is 
now printed as one. 



visible Temple is the outward sign of God's presence ; 
in the soul of every pure worshipper is the Divine Re- 
ality. It is not then the costliness or beauty of the 
shrine, but the holiness of the offering, that the Father 
regards. But there is an instinct of the soul that will 
not thus be reasoned down. We feel somewhat of self- 
reproach, when we see our private dwellings fitted up 
more expensively and tastefully than the house of the 
Most High. We are like Hebrew worshippers, who 
should lead to the sacrifice, the lame, the sickly and the 
worthless among the lambs of their flock. Our pious 
forefathers, who founded our churches in the wilder- 
ness, and cherished them as their highest joy and dear- 
est hope, had but small and mean buildings for their 
public devotions. But then their own habitations were 
smaller and meaner still. These warrior saints of New- 
England were content to live in rude cabins, inartifi- 
cially constructed of rough logs. The best they had, 
they devoted to God. Their Meeting-house, — the 
erection of which was commonly the first enterprise 
that united their exertions — built with a substantial 
frame-work, and covered with unplaned and unpainted 
boards, rose amongst the humbler private dwellings, in 
comparative splendor ; as the ordinary farm-house of 
civilized man would be a palace in a nation of savages. 
The tastes and wants of man vary with times and 
circumstances. All the works of his hand wax old and 
decay. The noblest structures of one generation are 
superseded and removed as unfit to satisfy the wishes 
or necessities of another. " The fashion of this world 
must pass away." Let it pass away then without com- 
plaint. Let each successive age be the judge of its 
own wants. Let the edifices, that begin to crumble 



and totter under the heavy hand of time, be disj)laced 
by otliers which may better answer their end. 

Tliere are old things, however, from Avhicli we can- 
not disengage ourselves without painful emotion, though 
we know they are to be succeeded by something better. 
It is to me, my friends, a solemn and aftecting consid- 
eration, — how much more so, to you, who have come 
up here to worship from your earliest years, — that this 
is our last meetinj^ within these venerable walls. But 
we yield to the irresistible tendency of all things made 
by man ; they gradually decay, crumble and moulder 
into dust. Our greatest care could only, for a few years, 
have put off the ruin to which this Temple of God is 
liasting, in common with all earth-made structures- 
Let it pass away then, this House of our devotions, 
round which holy remembrances and associations have 
so long been gathering. But not unregretted and un- 
honored can it pass and be forgotten. Not like a shat- 
tered and ill-favored shed, can we bear to see it broken 
down and thrust aside with cold indifference. We 
would give it a reverent and affectionate farewell. It 
may be interesting to employ the last hours we are per- 
mitted to enjoy here, in looking into some memorials of 
the past with which this edifice connects us. 

The plantation of INIedford was begun in 1630, the 
same year in which Boston was founded. It was at 
first called IMeadford, probably from a fordway across 
the river in a mead, or meadow, a little above the place 
where the draw-bridge has since been built. Some 
however suppose, with equal show of reason, that it 
was named for one John jMead, who lived near the ford 
and occasionally assisted travellers in their passage. 
This important question 1 am wholly incompetent to 



8 



decide. Of the early transactions of the settlement 
but few and scanty notices are preserved, as its records, 
down to 1674, have been destroyed, it is believed, by 
fire. The present occasion, however, does not call for 
many historical details, except such as relate to the 
town in its ecclesiastical character. 

Deputy Governor Dudley, speaking of the Colonists 
who came from England and arrived in Massachusetts 
Bay in 1630, says, " Some of us planted upon Mistic, 
which we named Meadford." This name was given to 
a considerable tract, lying along both sides the river, 
a part of which is now included within the limits of 
Charlestown. Within two years from its settlement, 
Meadford became so considerable as to bear its part of 
the public expenses of the Colony. Yet for more than 
eighty years it had no organized church or settled 
ministry. It is difficult to account for a deficiency so 
unusual at that period, when it was the first concern of 
our fathers, in their severest straits, to have a pious, 
gifted and faithful ministry. " It was as unnatural," 
says Johnson, in his Wonder Working Providence, 
" for a right New-England man to live without an able 
ministry, as for a Smith to work his iron without a 
fire." It would seem that Medford was not too poor 
to support the institutions of religion, which were then 
justly deemed of vital importance to the well-being of 
a Society ; for the Colony Registers shew that it was 
superior hi wealth,* within the first eight years of its 

* The early prosperity of the plantation, may be inferred from the following 
Note to Gov. VVinthrop's Journal, " Of a tax of £1500 levied by the General 
Court in 1637, tlie proportion paid by Medford was £52 10s. 

The proportion of Boston was £233 10s.; Ipswich, £180; Salem, £170 10s. ; 
Dorchester, £140; Charlestown, £138; Roxbury, £115; Watertown, £110 ; 
Newton, £106; Lvnn, £105. 



existence, to several ancient towns which were fur- 
nished with regular ministers. 

But whatever may have been the cause of the defi- 
ciency, it is certain that the consequences were most 
disastrous. The settlement languished for many 
years; its prosperity was checked, and its population 
increased but slowly ; the inhabitants were much di- 
vided among themselves; and several times they were 
prosecuted and fined for not having a ministry estab- 
lished according to law. For in these early days, when 
the sj)irit of the puritans endeavored to embody, in this 
new world, its itlea of a true theocracy, the province 
watched with parental solicitude over the spiritual well- 
being of her children, — now kindly encouraging and 
helping them to sustain the institutions of religion, — 
now severely rebuking them, punishing them even, for 
neglecting to help themselves. 

Mr. Matthew Cradock, carried on the first planta- 
tion,* and he had also extensive fisheries in that part of 
Mystic, which is now called INIedford, on the north 
side of the river. lie is often called Governor Cra- 
dock ; and his name appears in some of the Annual Re- 
gisters, as the first Chief Magistrate of the colony. But 
this is a mistake. He was in fact only the head of a 
commercial company in England, nor is it known that 
he ever came to this country himself. 

The first governor of IMassachusetts Bay, was John 
Winthrop, called by Cotton Mather in his Magnalia, 
the " American Nehemiah," who came to this country 
in IGoO. lie was a man of wealth and education, 

* Mr. Cradock's estate was in the cast part of the town, inrludinj^ tlie heanliful 
farm now owned by Messrs. James ic Isaac WelliiigUju. After a few years he 
seems to have abandoned his establishments here. 

2 



10 



equally eminent for his talents and his virtues. For 
several years he resided during the summer at his house 
on the south side of the river. "The Court of Assist- 
ance in 1631, granted to Mr. Governor six hundred 
acres of land, to be set forth by metes and bounds, near 
his house in Mistic, to enjoy to him and his heirs for- 
ever." This place he called the " Ten Hills Farm," a 
name which it bears to this day. This great and good 
man, who was loved and revered in his own time, and 
is now honored in his descendants, may justly be re- 
garded as the founder * of Medford, or Mistic as it was 
also called from the river which runs through it. The 
whole of this territory which lies south of the river, was 
afterwards annexed to Charlestown, to which it be- 
longed till 1755, when that portion of it, which now 
belongs to Medford, was set off to it by an act of the 
General Court. 
This town had no representationf in the Colonial 



* The following passages from Governor Winthrop's Journal intimate his con- 
nexion with this place. " Thursday, 1st June, 1630. We went to Massachusetts 
to find out a place for our sitting down. We went up Mistic River, in a boat, 
about six miles." 

" 1631, July 4. The Governor built a bark at Mistic, which was launched this 
day, and called the Blessing of the Bay. Aug. 9, the same year, the Governor's 
bark, being of thirty tons, went to sea." 

This arduous effort in the way of ship-building, was the first in the annals of 
Medford, and, I believe, the first in Massachusetts Colony. It was, no doubt, 
an enterprise of more difficulty than is now the building of one of those magnifi- 
cent packet ships, which are so often launched in our waters. 

" Oct. 30th, 1631. The Governor having erected a building of stone at Mistic, 
there came so violent a storm of rain, for twenty-four hours, that (it being not 
finished and laid with clay for want of lime,) two sides of it were washed dowu 
to the ground, and much harm was done to the other houses by that storm." 

t About the year 1689, the inhabitants of Medford petitioned the Legisla- 
ture for an act of incorporation, with the privilege of being represented in the 
General Court. The answer to the petition was, that " the town had been incor- 
porated along with the other towns in the province, by a general act passed in 
1630. And under this act, it had at any time a right to organize itself and choose 
a representative, without further legislation." It seems, thei-efore, that Medford 
was both a town and a parish in 1630, — about sixty years before it recognised 
itself as such. Will not this neglect ot organization account for its want of" early 
records, without the accident of fire .' 



Legislature until about the year 1690, "when Lieuten- 
ant Peter Tufts was chosen to that office, and it was 
voted to pay him eighteen pence a day so long as he 
shall attend the General Court." Nor does it appear 
that there was any public school till early in the next 
century, when " ]\Ir. Henry Davison was chosen to keep 
school lor said town for one quarter of a year. Voted 
also to allow JMr. Davison the sum of three pounds 
money for keeping school the time above-stated, and 
also to diet him for the same." This appears to have 
been the first germ in this place of the public school 
system, which has since grown into a matter of so 
nuich interest and importance to our community. It is 
amusing to observe, from this distance of time, the 
economical s|)irit indicated by these arrangements in 
behalf of legislation and good learning. AVe are apt, 
however, to underrate the liberality of our ancestors, 
when we take into account only the nominal pecuniary 
value which they set upon intellectual labor. It must 
be considered, that in relation to the means, wants and 
habits of life, money was then worth five or six times 
as much as it is in these days of opulence and lavish 
expenditure. Our ancestors were a frugal people ; but 
there is a frugality that is not good economy. The 
community that withholds the means of culture from 
the x\A\m jreneration, withholds the bread of lil'e from 
the hungry. Let them be careful and circumspect in 
their outlay ; let them save, pinch, stint themselves as 
tliey will ; but let them not stint and starve the minds 
and souls of their children. 

1 make these remarks, however, with no intention to 
reproach the men of another age. If they had no pub- 
he schools, I have no doubt that tliey supported private 



12 



institutions of learning according to their ability. The 
spirit of the age and country would not have suffered 
them to neglect this duty. The fathers of New-Eng- 
land in the seventeenth century made the education of 
the whole people their great concern. Their means 
were small, but their good will was great. They de- 
nied themselves, they higgled with their appetites, they 
drove hard bargains with their housekeeping, that they 
might have wherewithal to train up the young in mo- 
rality, religion, and sound knowledge. They gladly 
threw their two mites into the treasury of wisdom when 
it was all their living. How resolutely, and with what 
heroic self-sacrifice did they exert themselves, in times 
of severest privation, to establish and endow the col- 
lege, — which was so long the object of their prayer 
and hope, — " to the end " — as they beautifully said — 
" that good learning may not be buried in the graves of 
our fathers." 

These early sacrifices in the cause of education were 
not acts of public bodies, or gifts of the rich from their 
superfluity, but free-will offerings of a whole people. 
The virtuous and enlightened poor came up with gen- 
erous enthusiasm, bringing the products of their labor 
and self-denial, — often in shape of articles of furniture, 
which they could, or could not well spare from their 
poorly-furnished habitations. Often they contributed 
money, in sums so small that they would now excite a 
smile. But these lowly offerings of poverty indicate a 
noble spirit in men, worthy to become the fathers of a 
great nation. And while they so affectionately nourish- 
ed the College, they did not neglect the humbler insti- 
tutions of learning. In the midst of want and suffer- 
ing, and surrounded by a savage wilderness and more 



13 



savage enemies, they laid the deep and broad founda- 
tions of that common school system which is the glory 
and liope of the country, — the nursery of intelhgence, 
freedom and virtue. 

It cannot be supposed that the inhabitants of Mystic, 
living hard by the metropolis of this wise and enlight- 
ened people, were indifferent to the great interest which 
lay so near tlie hearts of their brother colonists. They 
could not have j)assed the greater part of a century 
without any schools for their children. Undoubtedly 
tliey had means of education which do not appear in 
their records. The documents which have survived the 
waste of accident and time, sliow no want of practical 
ability, no deficiency in the accomplishments which a 
connnon school is expected to bestow. The leading 
men, who filled the various oflices in the town, appear 
always to have been persons of more than ordinary 
capacity and endowment. 

I come now to the period when the town of Med- 
ford assumes the character of a Parish, and its ecclesi- 
astical history begins. Before the year 1G90, the people, 
having no regular church or constant preaching, attend- 
ed public worship in the neighboring towns. But from 
this time their records show that they were zealous and 
anxious to secure a settled ministry of the gospel ; and 
tliey were willing to make liberal appropriations to 
maintain it. Cut off as they were from all conve- 
nient* access to the means of grace, they severely felt 

* The following anecdote, related willi imirli simplicity in Governor Win- 
throp's Jovnniil, U an amiisins; illustration of the inconvenience of goinsi out of 
town to attend public worship, especially when a deep tide water without a 
brid^je lies in the way. " Onr Daiddn and his wife, dwellinj^ near Meadford, 
coining from C"aml>ridcc, where tliry had spent their Sahhath, and heing to pass 
over the rivi-r at a ford, the tide not JMing fallen enough, the husliand adventured 
over and finding it too deep, persuaded liis wife to slay awhile. Hut it raining 
very sore she would needs adventure over, and was carried away with the 



14 



the disadvantages of their condition. They could not 
enjoy the order and godly peace of a well-organized 
Christian people. A civil community without a church 
is a body without a soul. It is " without God in the 
world," when the Divinity is manifest in no religious 
institutions. The culture and salvation of souls re- 
quires some visible embodiment of the religious idea. 
The means of grace must be brought near, and made 
objects of our personal care and solicitude, or their in- 
fluence will never flow through the great heart of soci- 
ety. If they must be looked for in other towns, be- 
yond the sphere of our local interests and our social 
affections, they will be irregularly sought and unprofit- 
ably used. They should ever stand out prominently 
among the objects that most engage our attention and 
sympathy. Our children should be reared under the 
droppings of the sanctuary, that their earliest culture 
may be hallowed by devout reverence for God, His 
truth and His authority. They should see the venera- 
ble elders bowing in lowly and grateful worship to the 
Supreme Benefactor, and their whole being, mind, 
heart, speech, action pervaded and inspired by divine 
sentiments and principles. Then only will filial piety 
become an early habit of the soul, when religious es- 
tabhshments stand interwoven with the business and 
pleasure, the joy and sorrow of every-day life, and the 
genius of the place is instinct with the spirit of rever- 
ence and devotion. Thus a whole community is 
bathed in an atmosphere of holiness, and breathes in 
Heavenly influences. God is in the midst of His peo- 

stream past her depth. Her husband not daring to go and help her, cried out and 
thereupon his dog caine forth from his house near by, and seeing something in the 
water, swam to her, and she caught hold of the dog's tail, so he drew her to the 
shore and saved her life." 



15 



pie, bodied forth in their institutions, and manifest to 
their souls through the visible symbols of His presence; 
and they are brought up at the feet of Infinite Wisdom. 
In the latter part of the seventeenth century the ec- 
clesiastical history of this comnmnity began to devel- 
ope itself. For many years from that time the town 
records are chiefly occupied with religious affairs, such 
as the employment of preachers, and the making of 
arrangements for the building of a meeting-house, and 
a parsonage. The town had never yet had a regular 
minister, though attempts had been made to settle one 
in its very infancy. Within four years after its first 
settlement, the celebrated James Noyes, afterwards 
minister of Newbury, preached in this place about a 
year. " He was born at Choulderton in Wiltshire, of 
godly parents, in 1608. His father was a minister in 
the same town. He was educated at Oxford University, 
and emigrated to New-England in 1634, and when he 
arrived he was immediately called to preach at JMistic, 
which he did for nearly a year. He was much beloved 
and respected, a very holy and Heavenly-minded man, 
and as much mortified to the world as almost any in it. 
He scarce called any thing his own, but his books and 
clothes. He was a man of singular qualifications, in 
piety excelling, an implacable encmv to all heresv and 
schism, and a most able warrior against the same. He 
was of a reaching and ready apprehension, a most pro- 
found judgment, a rare, tenacious and comprehen- 
sive memory, fixed and unmovable in his grounded 
conceptions, — sure in words and speech, without rash- 
ness, — gentle and mild in all expressions, without any 
passion or provoking language. He was of so loving, 
compassioitate and humble carriage, that, 1 believe, 



16 



never any were acquainted with him but did desire the 
continuance of his society and acquaintance. He was 
resolute for truth, and in defence thereof had no re- 
spect for persons. He was courageous in dangers, and 
still was apt to believe the best, and made fair weather 
in a storm. He was much honored and esteemed in 
the country, and his death was greatly bewailed. I 
think he may be reckoned among the greatest worthies 
of this age." * 

Such was the first preacher of the gospel in this 
town, and it does not appear that he had any successor 
for nearly sixty years. From 1693 to 1712, various 
ministers were employed ; several of whom were call- 
ed to a permanent settlement, and a provision made for 
their support, which, in those days, might be deemed lib- 
eral. None of them, however, accepted the invitation, 
on account of certain difficulties and dissensions hinted 
at, but not explained in the town records. The first of 
these candidates was Mr. John Hancock, grandfather 
to the celebrated John Hancock, so well known in the 
history of the Revolution. He received a call but did 
not accept it ; and was soon after settled in Lexington, 
where he labored in the work of the ministry for more 
than fifty years, enjoying such consideration and influ- 
ence among the clergy that he was usually called Bishop 
Hancock. In his own parish he was reverenced as the 
father and ruler of his people. He was in the habit of 
settling all manner of questions and controversies among 
them, such as are now carried into courts of justice, 
in the most summary way, with the authority of an 
absolute prince ; and the parties cheerfully acquiesced 

* See a long account of him in Mather's Magnalia, written by his friend, the 
Rev. Mr. Parlier, and his nephew, Nicholas Noyes, minister of Salem. 



17 



in his decisions ; for he was a good and wise man, and 
all the people loved and lionored him.* The next 
preacher in this town, who received a call, was Dr. 
Colman, settled afterwards over Ikattle Street Church 
in Boston. He hecame (^niinent in the profession, and 
was elected President of the College in 1724, but de- 
clined the office. lie was succeeded by Mr. Si- 
mon Bradstreet, afterwards a distinguished minister in 
Charlestown. lie preached in Medford about a year, 
l)ut declined an invitation to settle here permanently. 
The Rev. John Tufts and several others were engaged 
as temporary preachers, and received calls, but yet no 
settled minister was obtained. 

In 1698, Mr. Benjamin Woodbridge was invited to 
preach in Medford, with a view to a permanent settle- 
ment. He continued to supply the pulpit lor nearly 
ten years. And he seems to have performed the du- 
ties of a pastor without being legally settled in the min- 
istry, for I find his record of baptisms, running through 
the whole period of his ministerial labors. A dark 
cloud has settled over the meniory of this person, which 
I am not able to penetrate. His connexion with the 
town seems to have been unhappy ; his ministry was 
unquiet, and his reputation remains equivocal. There 
was much discussion about him in town-meetings, and 
eviden tl a great deal oi" dissatisfaction. But no defi- 
nite charges against him are recorded ; and nothing 
appears by which he can be either acquitted or con- 

* There arc still traditions of him in Lexington, which show the veneration in 
which he wni held. In his time disputes abowt the bonndaries of land were not 
infrequent. Wlun a dilhculty of lliis kind arose biiwcen two neighbors, Mr. 
H. would call upon the parlies and tell ihetii to follow liiin. When he came upon 
the debated ground he would patiently exniuine the facts of the case, hear all they 
had to say, and then set up the landmarks with his own hand, and tell them" to go 
home and live in peace, and serve God." His judgmont.s were final ; no ap- 
peals were made from them. 

3 



demned. Frequent attempts for several years were 
made to give him a legal settlement, but always some 
unexplained difficulty sprung up to prevent it. The 
town had voted him a salary from year to year, and 
raised a considerable sum by taxation to build a par- 
sonage for his use. Then there were controversies, 
now unintelligible, between him and some of the car- 
penters, who were employed to build the house ; and 
also between him and the town's committee, growing 
out of obscure pecuniary transactions. These seem to 
have embittered his connexion with the people, and 
prevented his ordination from time to time, whenever 
he or his friends undertook to urge it. Two or three 
times, a formal protest against his ministry was entered 
on the town books by some of the most respectable in- 
habitants. But in vain. They could neither settle 
him nor remove him. For several years meeting after 
meeting was held, and vote after vote was passed, now 
to dismiss him, now to ordain him ; but always a reso- 
lute protest was entered against either measure. How 
strong the tie was between minister and people at that 
period, may be inferred from the fact, that Mr. Wood- 
bridge's friends protested against dismissing him on the 
ground " that a town has no power to dismiss its min- 
ister," though as yet he appears to have been invited 
only to preach as a candidate. He often expressed his 
wish to be ordained, but the painful controversies which 
created so much uneasiness remained unsettled, and 
the people without a pastor. 

The matter was referred to a council of churches, 
which decided that " Mr. Woodbridge should be dismiss- 
ed and another minister obtained." From this result of 
council an appeal was made to the General Court, 



which decreed that " ]Mr. Woodbridgc was not le<,^ally 
the minister of Medford, and ordered the town to settle 
another without delay." Such was the authority exert- 
ed by the government of the province in the early 
part of the last century I The town immediately took 
measures to comply with the order ; and meanwhile, 
" humbly bes[ged the General Court not to impose a min- 
ister upon them without their consent!'''' Mr. Wood- 
bridge was dismissed froui his ministry, but never re- 
moved from the town. lie died* here soon after in 
1710. 

Three candidates were then nominated to the town, 
of which one was to be settled as the permanent min- 
ister. They were Amos Chevers, John Tufts, and 
Aaron Porter. Mr. Porter was chosen, and was or- 
dained, the lirst regular minister of this town, Feb. 11, 
1713, about eighty-three years after its settlement. It 
seems strange to us that, in an aii-e when the ministra- 
tions of the Gospel were so highly appreciated, this 
town should have remained so long destitute of them. 
There were, however, in the Colony, other instances 
of the same kind. The ancient and important towns 
of Marblehead and Portsmouth, had no regular churches 
or ministers for about fifty years after their first settle- 
ment. To the want of religious institutions, the 
slow growth of Medford, its unprosperous condition, 
and the great difficulty it met with in obtaining a min- 

* From flic following extract from Jiidsc SewMirs mannscipt Journal, it wowlil 
seem that Mr. Woo<lbririge dill not lose his ministLiial charactcT by being tlis- 
misscd. 

" January 15 1709 Mr nonj. W(X)ill)ridgc died at Meadford. Thursday 19 
buried Mr Parsons at Maiden |)reaclH(l the funeral sermon. Hearers, l'ie>i(lent 
(ol College), Mr Hobart of Newton, Mr Hrattie, Mr IJradstreet, Mr Parsons, 
Mr Ruggles of Uillericay. Hy reason that it was lecture day and Mr Colman 
preached and the wind very high and blustering not one Hostun minister was 
there." 

For some extracts from this Journal, relating to Mr. Woodbridge and Mr. Por- 
ter, 1 am indebted to Rev. Mr. Scwall, of Burlington, a descendant of the Judge. 



20 



ister, have been reasonably attributed. The beginning 
of a long period of harmony and prosperity had now 
arrived. During the times of three successive minis- 
ters, extending over more than a century, " the church 
had rest and was edified ;" the people were in a thriv- 
ing state, " and walking in the fear of the Lord and in 
the comfort of the Holy Ghost, were multiplied." 

On the day of Mr. Porter's ordination, a church was 
organized and a covenant adopted, by which the breth- 
ren agreed to walk together, as disciples of Jesus, in 
Christian love and fidelity, " keeping the unity of the 
spirit in the bond of peace." This covenant was con- 
ceived in a spirit of liberality truly evangelical, making 
no mention of those points of doctrine, which have 
since been so strenuously insisted upon as conditions 
of Christian communion. It was signed the same day 
by fifteen male members who had all belonged to 
churches in the neighboring towns. 

January 24, 1722, Mr. Porter died after a ministry 
of a httle less than nine years.* He was graduated at 
Harvard University in 1708. What manner of man he 
was, what were his gifts, graces and attainments, there 
is neither record nor tradition to tell. That his short 
ministry was a happy and a useful one may well be 
supposed, for it has no history, save what was written 
in the souls of those who received from him the " words 
of Eternal hfe." His answer to the call of the town, 
and his account of the feelings and purposes with which 

* I cannot ascertain when or where he was born. The following extracts con- 
tain all that can be know of him except his own brief records in the church 
books. " 1721-22 Jan 24, Mr Brattle told me that Mr Aaron Porter ye desira- 
ble pastor of ye ch in Meadford was dead of a fever, which much grieved me." 
Judge Se wall's MS. Journal. 

" 1721--22 Jan 23 The Rev Minister of Meadford dies, Mr Porter, which mar- 
ried Unkle Sewall's daughter."— MS Journal of S. Sewall Esq., of Brookline. 



21 



he entered upon the work of the ministry, show him to 
have been ti man of faith, of fervent piety, and of a 
sound and tlioughtful mind. Tlicy breathe the very 
spirit of meekness, holiness and love. A dim outline 
appears through the mists which have gathered over 
the distant past ; but indistinct and shadowy as it is, it 
reveals an image of great spiritual beauty. 

Mr. Ebenezer Turell was ordained as successor to 
Mr. Porter the 2.5th of November, 1721. He was born 
in Boston in tlie year 1701, and graduated at Harvard 
College in 1721. His ministry was long and tranquil, 
disturbed by no divisions or tumults among his people. 
President Allen in his Biographical Dictionary says of 
liim, " He was an eminent preacher, of a ready inven- 
tion, a correct judgment, and fervent devotion, who 
delivered divine truth with animation, and maintained 
discipline in his church with boldness temjiered by pru- 
dence." Of these great qualities, however, I can find 
no evidence. IMany of my aged hearers remomlier 
him as he appeared in the latter years of his life ; but 
there is no memory or tradiiion that he had any un- 
common learning or endowments.* His orthodoxy, 
according to the received opinions of his time, was 
unimj)eached and unimpeachable, but he was neither 
a bigot nor a fanatic. He was remarkable for per- 
sonal beauty and the accomplishments of a gentle- 

* A story is told of liiin from which it inii;ht he iiifcirod that he was a pfted 
speaker. When Whitfield was preacliin;; in this vicinity, and drawing multi- 
tudes after him, Mr. Turell, in common with the mo-^t eminent divines of the 
country, looked with distrust and apprehension upon his ecrentric and tumultu- 
ous movements. One week a report w.is circulated that Mr. \\ . was to preach 
in Medforil the next Sunday. He liid not come; a stranger from Maiden came 
to hear him, hut instead of him, heard .Mr. Turell, without knowing the person 
of either. Accordingly he went home exceedingly moved and edilied, supposing 
he had heard the great Mr. WhitfieM ; nor did he cease to talk in raptures 
about his " wonderlul preaching," until, .several weeks after, he accidentally dis- 
covered his mistake. I suppose there is nothing very extraordinary in a delusion 
of this kind. When a man is in search of the marvellous, he is apt to find what he 
looks for. 



man, — a social, vivid, genial man, w^ho enjoyed society 
and contributed largely to its pleasure ; yet nowise 
neglecting the duties of a devout, earnest and faithful 
minister of Christ. The society flourished and in- 
creased greatly during his time. He died in 1778, in 
the 77th year of his age, and the 54th of his ministry. 
For four or five years before his death, the town em- 
ployed other preachers to supply the pulpit, whenever 
the infirmities of age rendered him unable to perform 
the services. And on the 14th of September, 1774, 
Mr. Osgood was ordained over, the church and society 
as his colleague pastor. 

David Osgood, D. D., was born at Andover, October 
25th, 1747, and graduated at Harvard University in 
1771. On leaving college he devoted himself to the 
work of the ministry, and pursued his theological studies 
at Cambridge. He was one of the most distinguished 
men of his time, — of a character so strong, decided 
and original, that for many years he occupied a com- 
manding position, and exerted great influence in the 
community. He gave the best affections of his heart, 
and all the strength of his gifted and highly cultivated 
mind, to the cause of truth and righteousness. He was 
what may be called a ivhole man ; there was no tem- 
porizing, or halfness in his soul, — none in his life. 
He was free from all guile. He followed with uncon- 
querable firmness, the convictions of his own mind and 
conscience. So little was he disposed to disguise his 
sentiments or qualify the expression of them for the 
sake of pleasing, that not unfrequently he appeared 
abrupt and rough in his address. He was an honest 
man, sincere, simple, single-hearted, — often to the 
neglect of " those soft parts of speech," which serve 



23 



to give smoothness to the common intercourse of hfe ; 
or to conceal the intrinsic harshness of contradiction or 
rebuke, under the forms of sweetest courtesy. Yet he 
was courteous in the best and highest sense of the word. 
However plain and uncompromising he might l)c in the 
utterance of truths, not always agreeable to those who 
heard them, he had great magnanimity and nuich gen- 
uine kindliness in his dis[)osition. Accordingly, it his 
honest freedom of speech at any time wounded a feel- 
ing that deserved regard, he was the readiest of all men 
to heal it by a quick atonement. His stern integrity, 
and the directness and force of his remarks, which gave 
great authority and weight to his character, did not ex- 
clude the gentler qualities, which conciliate alfection. 
Those who knew him best loved him as well as revered 
him. 

" In the minds of all wdio enjoyed his acquaintance, 
there is evidence enough that his heart was the honje 
of many of the kindest dispositions and tenderest feel- 
ings of our nature. His conversation was very often 
enlivened with iiniocent hilarity and playful cheerful- 
ness ; and few men have made their intercourse sought 
on these accounts more than he."* 

He was a man of God, fervent, reverential and de- 
vout. His piety was not fitful and passionate, but the 
settled habit of his soul, imparting a savor of holiness 
to his life. He was indeed a good and great man, car- 
nest, courageous, and high-principled. The elevation 
of his character and the unconquerable force of his will, 
gave him in all councils and conventions of clergymen, 
an authority which few ventured to resist. Everywhere 
he exercised among men that kind of sovereignty which 

• Rev. Mr. Francis's Obituary Notice. 



24 



belongs, by divine right, to strong and great souls. As 
a theologian and as a preacher Dr. Osgood is placed by 
common consent in the highest rank. A large part of 
my hearers will need no description of his character- 
istics ; for he was not a man to be forgotten by those 
who had enjoyed his ministration, even in their child- 
hood. I never saw him but once. It was on an occa- 
sion deeply interesting to him, when he assisted at the 
ordination of a young minister, one of his own church, 
for whom he felt an almost paternal regard. More than 
twenty years have since passed away ; but the earnest 
looks and thrilling tones of emotion, with which the 
venerable and eloquent old man uttered that solemn 
charge can never pass away from my memory. There 
was a current of strong and impassioned thought which 
bore his hearers along with him. His manner was un- 
like any other, and altogether indiscribable ; it seemed 
to spring directly from his feehngs, unshackled by any 
rules or precedents in oratory. His mind, originally 
vigorous, Avas enriched and adorned by a generous cul- 
ture in the best classic learning. He was a scholar, 
" a good and ripe one ;" for he devoted a long hfe to 
the acquisition of knowledge, which he knew how to 
employ in public discourse with singular power. In 
preaching, his method was natural and his conceptions 
clear ; and his vivid imagination enabled him often to 
set forth his subject with great felicity and beauty of 
illustration. His professional studies were pursued dil- 
igently to the end of his life ; and few men were so 
famihar with the Scriptures of the Old and New-Testa- 
ment in their original languages. He never went into 
the pulpit without carrying with him the mature results 
of his best studies and thoughts. A nd yet perhaps the 



J;j 



power of his preaching was the power of a great char- 
acter more than that of a great intellect. 

He excelled in clear statements of moral triitli and 
in strong appeals to the conscience. In his faithful 
rebukes and solemn warnings he is said to have been 
" truly awful." Yet in that strong and brave heart 
were deep fountains of sensibility. When he spoke of 
the Father's infinite mercy, the Savior's love, and the 
invitations of the Gospel to guilty and lost men, it 
seemed as if his whole being were melting in unutter- 
able tenderness and pity. With a spirit so free, ener- 
getic, full of emotion and fire, and richly furnished with 
the best learning, he could not be other than a powerful 
preacher. He had not the fear of man before his eyes ; 
he dared always to be true to his own convictions, and 
faithful to the souls of his people. 

Still more interesting to us is his large and liberal 
soul, utterly incapable of a narrow sectarianism. He 
respected the rights of every mind and conscience in 
their fullest extent. The freedom of thought, which 
he claimed for himself, he granted to others. He suf- 
fered no expression of bigotry or intolerance to pass 
unrebuked in his presence ; for he was as bold and 
downright in word and deed, as he was honest and true 
in heart. He was what is commonly called Orthodox 
in his opinions, yet no man in the community did so 
much, or could do so nine h as he, to restrain that spirit 
of exclusiveness, which in the latter part of his hfe be- 
gan to create nnha|)py dissensions in the churches. He 
would never admit that any man should be denied the 
Christian name and fellowship on account of his sin- 
cere convictions, however widely these convictions 
might dilfor from his own. lie would keep the unity 
of tlie spirit only by the bond of peace — of mutual 
4 



26 



chanty — of brotherly kindness. Hence his pubhc hfe 
-4a« a ministration of power and love, of truth and char- 
ity, in rare and beautiful union. The strongest sym- 
pathies of his heart, and the most intimate of his minis- 
terial relations were with the most hberal of his clerical 
brethren. And to the younger among them, who re- 
vered him as a father, he was ever ready to afford aid 
and counsel from his stores of rich experience and solid 
wisdom. The following declaration of his Catholic 
sentiments is found in one of his sermons pubhshed a 
hw years before his death. " Each of us ought to 
think and judge for himself, using the reason which 
God has given us, in searching and studying His re- 
vealed will. — From this unrestricted freedom variety 
of opinion may always be expected to follow. Prin- 
ciples may be adopted by some, which, in the judgment 
of others, seem to sully the glory of the Gospel. Un- 
der the influence of other principles, however, held in 
common by both parties, their hearts and lives may be 
conformed to the precepts of Christ. In this case, 
there can be no excusable pretence for either party^s ex- 
cluding the other from Christian or ministerial fellowship. 
It is certain, that the spirit of Christ is not confined 
to any one sect, party or denomination of his follow- 
ers. — "By their fruits shall ye know them, not by 
their doctrines, nor by their professions."* 

" It is not easy," — says one who was able to appre- 
ciate the great qualities of his mind and heart, — " to 
estimate the good. influences exerted on the community 
by a powerful mind thus employed. We believe Dr. 
Osgood did much to stay the progress of an uncharit- 
able and exclusive spirit, to strengthen a sense of the 
value of our religious privileges, and of the respect 

^_ ■* Sermon preached at the ordination of Rev. Mr. Francis, Watertown. 



27 



we owe each other as disciples of Jesus. He liad a 
weijiht of character whicli made his influence felt in a 
remarkable degree in society." — With regard to the 
direct ellects of his nnnistry, he had the satisfaction 
which must belong to ;i good and faithful servant ot 
Christ. But he set up no fiillacious standard ol' minis- 
terial success ; nor did he count any man a useless 
laborer in the vineyard, merely because he had not 
been able to stir up a spiritual commotion among his 
peo{)le, nor to raise that ieverish excitement, which too 
often ends in spiritual pride, and consumes the true 
foundation of the Christian character. No man was 
more in earnest than he in the cause of religion ; no 
man loved better to witness its progress, " pure and 
undeliled ;*' — he saw with joy every indication of the 
power of the Gospel among his people ; his delight was 
to win souls to Christ. 13ut he wished for no wild and 
violent efforts at religion ; lie sought not to produce 
agonies and raptures, but to place the hearts of his 
hearers under the tuition of the spirit of the Gospel, 
and to impress upon them that a good life is the best 
orthodoxy, and a bad one the worst heresy. He dwelt 
upon the consideration that a good minister at least 
prevents much evil ; and therefore that he should not 
be wholly discouraged, though in looking around he 
should see but few palpable and direct etiects of his 
exertions."* 

The usefulness of Dr. Osgood continued, and the 
power and fervor of his preaching is said to have in- 
creased to the end of his long life. His last {)ublic 
services were on the day of the annual Thanksgiving, 
only a week before his death. He died the 12th day 
of December, 1822, in the 76tli year of his age, and 

* Obituary notice of Dr. Osgood, Christian Disciple, November and December. 
1822, attributed to the Rev. Converse Francis. 



28 



the 49th of his peacetul and happy ministry. He 
was succeeded by the Rev. Andrew Bigelow, who 
was born in Groton, but had, from his childhood, been 
a member of this society. Mr. Bigelow had been be- 
fore ordained as an Evangelist, and had labored with 
ability and success in the ministry at Gloucester in 
this State and at Eastport in Maine. He was in- 
stalled as minister of this society on the 9th of July, 
1823. In about three years he resigned his charge ; and 
is now Pastor of the first C on gre Rational Church in 
Taunton. The time for speaking of his character is, 
I hope, far distant. Yet my regard to his feehngs need 
not prevent my bearing testimony, to the deep regret 
of his people, that any circumstances should, in his 
opinion, have made a separation from them desirable. 
He left behind him many aching hearts, and many 
warm friends, who will not forget how he labored 
among them as " a good minister of Jesus Christ," in 
all faithfulness and love. The present Pastor was or- 
dained as his successor on the 28th of February, 1 827. 
As long as Dr. Osgood lived the whole town of Med- 
ford was one parish, upon which the sectarianism of 
the times had made no distinct and manifest impression. 
It was its happiness never to have had an ilhberal min- 
ister. The true spirit of protestantism seems to have 
presided over the dispensation of the word ; and the 
free action of mind in search of truth had never been im- 
peded by ecclesiastical or clerical domination. This 
h-eedom of soul, encouraged by a Catholic and benefi- 
cent ministration of the Gospel for more than a centu- 
ry, had gradually mellowed and softened down the 
harsher features of the ancient New-England theology, 
until a large majority of the Society had become de- 
cidedly liberal in their sentiments. This movement 



I 



29 



towards purer and hiiilior forms of spiritual truth, had 
been long observed by Dr. Osgood ; hut he had too 
much sympathy with the independence and progress of 
the soul, to feel any anxiety about the results of its free 
action, or throw any hindrance in its way. It could 
not be expected, however, that all would be ecjually 
satisfied ; lor where there is freedom of mind there will 
ever be diversity of opinion, — some having a natural 
affinity ibr religious views, which, to others, are alto- 
gether distasteful, and seem to have no foundation 
cither in reason or in the revelations of God. it is not 
necessary to go into a detail of events so recent as the 
formation of two new societies, the one Calvinistic 
and the other Universalist, within the last sixteen 
years. A similar story may be told of almost every 
town in the Conunouwealth. The elements of dis- 
union, which had been long fermenting in the bosom 
of the community, at length broke forth, intimating 
that the time of division had come. For where the 
miuoritv of a peoj)le, from irreconcilable diflcrenccs of 
opinion, camiot worship with the rest with edification 
and comfort, they had better withdraw and provide for 
themselves a separate ministration which will satisfy 
their spiritual wants. I am not disposed to regard the 
dismemberment of our ancient parish as a calamity ; 
for since the exasperation of sectarian feeling, usually 
occasioned by such events, has had time to subside, our 
community is at peace. The troubled waters of life 
have become clear again. Instead of one, we have 
three well fdled churches, and three societies, — each, 
as we may hope, doing some humbhj ])art in the great 
work of humanity. 

After the formation of a second society, the two 
streams of civil and ecclesiastical history, which luid 



30 



long flowed on together, are forced into separate chan- 
nels. I traced, as well as I could, in its scanty and 
meagre records, the course of the town, until it be- 
came a parish. I now leave it at the point where it 
loses it ecclesiastical character and ceases to be a par- 
ish. It may be well, however, to notice the several 
houses in which this Society has, in times passed, suc- 
cessively worshipped. The first was built in 1695 and 
6, — a very humble edifice, thirty feet long and twenty- 
seven wide. It stood upon a rock beyond the brook, 
which runs through the valley a little to the west of the 
place where we are now assembled. " A committee 
was appointed by the town to seat the people in the 
new meeting-house," giving them precedence, partly 
according to the taxes they paid, and partly on some 
mysterious principle of social rank, not now understood 
among us. At first no pews were built; the men were 
placed on one side of the house and the women the 
other, after the present fashion of the Shaker Societies. 
The origin of pews seems to have been as follows. In 
January, 1701, on a petition of Major Nathaniel Wade, 
the town voted, that he have leave to build a pew for 
himself and his family in the meeting-house." Similar 
grants were soon after voted to persons of consequence ; 
pews became fashionable ; and at length nearly the 
whole house was occupied in this manner. The old sys- 
tem of seating the people was given up, and the pews 
became private property, either by grant or purchase. 
This house was soon found to be too small for conveni- 
ence, and accordingly, in 1727, a little more than thirty 
years, a new edifice was built, and opened for public 
worship. It was considerably larger than the first, be- 
ing fifty-two feet long and thirty-eight wide. It stood 
by the side of what was called Marrabell's brook, a 



I 



31 



liort distance to the eastward of the former house. In 
the year 17G9, forty-two years afterwards, the town 
erected the edifice in which we are now assembled for 
the last time, before it is taken down, that a more 
commodious and tasteful structure may be reared on its 
site. 

And now, my friends, we are to bid farewell forever 
to this temple of God, which, though time-worn and 
unsiijhtly in its appearance, is dear and venerable to 
many of us for its holy remembrances. Not with un- 
mingled pain, however, do we leave it, for we hope in a 
few months to see a more beautiful house of our CJod 
spring up on the same consecrated ground where we 
and our fathers have worshipjied. The inspiring asso- 
ciations of the old temple we will carefully cherish and 
transfer to the new. Soon will the golden candlestick 
reappear in its wonted place, and we shall rejoice to- 
gether in its light. 

There are two aspects in which we may consider the 
building of which we are taking a final leave. We 
may look upon the old and decaying house as a sign 
of weakness and decrepitude, of the decline of the in- 
stitutions and spirit of religion. The sentiment of re- 
ligion is the tree of Life, mentioned in the Apocalypse, 
" and the leaves of the tree are for the healinjr of the 
nations." The " leaves " are institutions, houses of 
worship, all outward means and instruments of grace. 
They are not perennial ; they all liavt; in tiicni the 
princii)le of decay. They " fall into the sear and yel- 
low leaf of autumn ; " they wither, moulder awav, nnd 
mingle with dust from which they sj)rung. Ijut the 
vitality of the tree is not impaired. It survives the se- 
verest winter of calamity and persecution ; and ever 
does it clothe itself anew witli the freshness and beauty 



32 



of genial youth. So our hope in human estabhsh- 
ments, — the mere clothing of the religious idea, — 
rests not upon their permanence, but upon their per- 
petual regeneration. The institutions and forms of 
one age may be ill adapted to the spirit and wants of 
another; then let them be reconstructed. The vast 
and solemn cathedral and the lowly meeting-house 
sooner or later will fall into decay ; then let them be 
rebuilt. Let the " Tree of Life," have its roots in the 
depths of our spiritual being ; let its branches stretch 
up towards Heaven, ever renewing its " leaves for the 
healing of the nations," and bearing fruits of righteous- 
ness to nourish and bless the souls of men. 

There is a deep and holy sentiment connected with 
an ancient house of worship. We cannot give? it up 
without a pang. But the feeling may be indulged too 
far. We may fondly chng to our falling house till we 
are crushed and buried under its ruins. A Christian 
society may reject the outward means of its renovation, 
from a blind attachment to what is old, till its strength 
and life are gone, and nothing old is left to them worth 
preserving. The reverence which binds us to an an- 
cient place of worship, had it been too tenaciously 
cherished, would have prevented the building of the 
edifice in which we are now assembled ; and we must 
have been at this day a feeble few, crowding into the 
little and ruined meeting-house which our ancestors 
erected in the time of their sore trials and straits. 

And now, my friends, however painfully we may go 
from this house, let us go cheerfully and hopefully. 
We go to return again. This visible pile is to disap- 
pear in a few days, but the temple of God is not to be 
removed out of its place ; here on this consecrated 
ground it is again to stand restored, — a symbol of the 



33 



resurrection. With profound sensibility wc go away, 
to conic a<j;ain and find a new temple, round which ho- 
liest ati'ections may gather and kindle. And when the 
edifice, which is to rise on the ruins oi" this, shall in its 
turn grow old, and become unfit to satisfy the wants 
and tastes of some distant future, let that too fall, only 
to re-appear in a better resurrection. Thus may the 
frail house, built by human hands, become immortal 
like the spirit that hallows it. The ground it stands on 
is holy ; we would never have it desecrated by meaner 
uses. The wood and stones thereof grow old and are 
changed, but let the temple forever be one, — the cen- 
tre of die same inspiring associations, — a symbol of 
the presence of I Jim, who is One, "the same yesterday, 
to-day and forever." 

There is another aspect, however, in which it may 
be regarded ; not as an old thing to be removed, but as 
a holy thing to be venerated. The idea of a house of 
worship connects itself in our minds with the great pur- 
poses to which it has been devoted, the blessings and 
consolations of religion, the life and power of faith, 
and the eternal hope of souls. There is a sanctity in 
every structure, however humble and time shattered, 
that has been consecrated to communion with God, and 
to the refjeneration of man. if a divine word or in- 
spired thought luis ever touched and quickened our 
souls in the sanctuary, it rushes upon us again at this 
parting hour. Here we have sat at the feet of Jesus, 
and heard his gracious words of wisdom and love, his 
lessons of justice, faithfulness, and charity, his revela- 
tions of hope and blessedness. Here most of you 
have listened to the reverend old man, " like an am- 
bassador of Christ, beseeching you to be reconciled to 
God." You have seen his deep emotion, when, 



34 



•' By him the violated law spoke out 
Its thunders, and by him in strains as sweet 
As angels use, the Gospel whispered peace." 

And dear to your souls is the memory of these privi- 
leges, holy is the place where they have heen enjoyed ; it 
cannot seem old, but venerable, — the more venerable 
because your mind goes not back to its origin. You have 
never seen upon it the working of human hands ; you 
have heard no sound of hammer or saw ; to your im- 
agination it is without beginning, and you would have 
it without end. 1 cannot but sympathize with the senti- 
ment, though my own relation to this ancient structure 
is but of yesterday. It is honorable to human nature. 
I would that every Christian Temple could be built from 
the everlasting Rock, that it might be imperishable as 
the spiritual idea of which it is the visible sign. 1 would 
not abandon this frail edifice with heartless indifference. 
Let all its accumulated remembrances go with us. Let 
us linger, and look, and sigh out a last farewell. House 
of God farewell, — forever! From every part of thy 
old frame come melodies and counsels and warnings. 
The bell has tolled its final summons ; in a few mo- 
ments the organ notes will be hushed to their long 
silence ; the clock, from its high watch tower, has just 
sounded out in our ears, its last solemn tone, as if time 
should be no more ; the spire points upward to the se- 
rene Heavens, to shew us that our home and rest are 
there, in the bosom of the Infinite. The pulpit, — the 
altar of baptism, — the table of Christ, with its touch- 
ing memories — all, with inarticulate, but thrilling 
voices, echo our last farewell ! With mingled emotions 
of sorrow and gladness we go ; we obey the voice of 
God, speaking to us through his Providence, and say- 
ing, " arise and depart for this is not your rest." 



PUBLIC WORSHIP; 

A 

DISCOURSE 

DELIVERED AT THE DEDICATION 

OF 

THE NEW CIIURCir, 

ERECTED BY 

THE FIRST CONGREGATIONAL SOCIETY IN MEDFORD, 

OBT 

WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 4th, 1839. 



DISCOURSE I I. 

AT THE DEDICATION OF THE NEW 
CHURCH. 



1 CORl.VTHIANS III, 16. 

Know ye not that ye are the Temple olGod, aud that the spirit of God dwell- 
eth in you ? 

The soul that makes an olicring is greater tliaii the 
gift. No sacrifice is so noble as the spirit that hallows 
it. No house built by human hands for the service of 
God, is so holy as that which He hath chosen and sanc- 
tified for Himself in every pure heart. " Know ye not 
that ye are the Temple of God, and that the spirit of 
God dwcllcth in you .'^" 

The building of a house of worship, however, is an 
act of deep spiritual significance. It is a sacrifice of 
the visible to the invisible, of the temporal to the 
eternal. There is a language of signs more imj)rcssivc 
than any articulate s|)<m'c1i. The house of Ciod is an 
expression of the })ul)lic faith aud religious sentiment. 
It stands apart, a consecrated thing, among the busy 
throngs of men, and from its calm and holy retirement, 
ever come voices of coun.scl, rebuke and warning, as 
from the oracle of God. It intimates our connexion 
with a higher life, and directs our thoughts to nobler 
uses of our being, than we have yet acknowledged. A 



38 



new Temple, rising from the foundation of the old, may 
be regarded as a sign of the regeneration of the society 
to which it belongs. If it does not kindle up in our 
languishing souls a warmer and fresher interest in the 
ordinances of the Gospel, and breathe into them anew 
the breath of Divine life, it wholly fails to accomplish 
its greatest object. If it has any significance or value 
beyond our ordinary dwellings, it is derived from the 
act of faith which consecrates it; and by ever new and 
freewill offerings of faith, must it be kept holy. Hence- 
forth this edifice is sacred to the interests and aspira- 
tions of the soul. It rejects all meaner uses. Every 
unchristian feeling or unworthy thought desecrates it. 
The visible beauty may remain, but no longer is it an 
expression of spiritual beauty in the invisible life of the 
worshipper. You cannot appropriate it to any secular 
object without destroying the sublimity of its idea, and 
the integrity of its impression. To come into it for the 
furtherance of worldly ends, or with minds occupied 
with selfish schemings, is to set up the tables of the 
money changers and stalls for the sale of oxen in the 
courts of God. The place is profaned by every thing 
that defiles the soul which enters it. No sanctuary can 
be hoher than the hearts of its worshippers. 

Let every thought then of this visible temple be ac- 
companied with deeper thoughts of the invisible adorn- 
ing of the soul with piety and faith and love. Let it 
shadow forth the rekindling of devout sentiments and 
all Christian graces in the heart of this people. If we 
allow ourselves to be satisfied by its outward ministra- 
tion to our senses and tastes, it is no temple of God 
that we have reared, but an unhallowed monument of 
our pride and vanity, upon which no blessing descends. 
When we removed our ancient house of worship as no 



39 



longer worthy of its sacred service, and caused this new 
edifice to rise, in its serene beauty on the same conse- 
crated ground, we were virtually pledi^ed to hnild up 
the spiritual temple of God with a diviner beauty. The 
act implied a self-surroiidcr ; it signified that we here 
dedicate our whole being to God, with tlic inspiration 
of high and holy aims, and with the strength and earn- 
estness of an unconquerable resolution. We would not 
exhaust our energies in rebuilding and adorning the 
outward while we leave tiic sanctuary within a mourn- 
ful ruin. Tiiis new edifice speaks to us of a reviving 
sentiment of religion in the hearts of the people. Let 
us endeavor to fulfil the augury. Let it stand here ever 
more a liolv and free olVering of our souls to God and 
to the best interest and hope of humanity, undefiled 
by meaner motive or aim. May it be a ministration 
of love and grace, of peace and charity, and truth 
and holiness to the present and all coming genera- 
tions. Rver may it be hallowed anew by the thronging 
in of devout worsliii)pers, yearning for the communi- 
cations of infinite wisdom and love. 

We arc here to-day to yield it up by acts of faith and 
devotion to Him, for whom we have built it. But by 
these religious ceremonies, — these prayers and spirit- 
ual songs and solemn organ notes, we do not hope to 
impart to it any mysterious sanctitv, which it would not 
else possess; we aim only to express our sense of the 
great purposes, for which it has been erected, and our 
reverence for the living God to whose public worship 
it is devoted. This public worship is the subject to 
which your attention is now invited. 

It may be regarded, in the first place, as a ministra- 
tion to the best interest of civil society. By educating 
the will, the conscience, and the moral sentiments of a 



40 



whole people, it gives to human laws their highest sanc- 
tion, and to social justice and order their best security. 
The value of religious institutions is underrated by 
those who have never known the want of them. They 
are a great conservative force, valuable at least for 
the evil they prevent. So much of their influence 
is expended in checking the downward tendencies of 
society, that we are not always able to trace it in any 
positive and strongly marked effects. 

I was once in a condition to observe the habits and 
morals of a community, that had been several years 
without the ministry of the Gospel ; and I hope never 
again to see so melancholy a spectacle of degeneracy. 
The coarsest vices corrupted the innocence and pol- 
luted the decencies of a rural life. It was difiicult to 
find an example of moral purity. Youth even had 
grown old in sin, children were taking early lessons 
in profligacy, and fast ripening into unprincipled men, 
and lawless members of society. Every where a spirit 
of irreverence and profane mockery prevailed. 

Wherever religious institutions have fallen into de- 
cay, we find society declining towards barbarism, — 
losing the virtues but retaining all the worst vices of 
civilized life. Its condition is more wretched and hope- 
less than that of a pagan state ; for paganism, even in 
its lowest forms, still reveres and worships something. 
But here is no faith, nor worship, nor any reverence, — 
not even that superstitious dread of invisible powers, 
which in the utter absence of moral sentiment and prin- 
ciple, does sometimes keep in check the excesses of hu- 
man passion. Let it not be thought that I would over- 
look or undervalue the inborn forces of man ; God 
has always a witness for himself in the moral nature. 
The soul sits throned in its own sphere of activity and 



41 



power, able to rise, in tlic Divinity of its strength, and 
subdue and triumph over all untoward circumstances, 
nay, make them instruments of its own growth and 
elevation. And it never abdicates its sovereignty. 
The moral faculties are universal. But tlu^y are not 
universally awake and active. Too often they seem 
not to be the true guides o( life, so much as blind in- 
stincts, tendencies, yearnings, which clearly intimate our 
need of light and instruction from a higher source. 
The revelation of Ciod is a natural want ot" man. 

In the worst state of society you may find here and 
there a religious fiimily, and there you may see beauti- 
ful tiowers and fruits of faith s{)ringing up and growing 
under home culture, and changing the veriest desert of 
life into a garden of (Jod. For He is present every 
where, — in the wild forest with the back-woodsman, 
or in tiic farm-house on the boundless prairie of the 
West, as well as in tlie thronged city with its hundred 
church spires pointing up to the Heavens — and every 
where the true worshipper finds His temj)le and His 
law in his own soul. But few will there be to worship 
the Father or reverence His just authority, where there 
are no visible signs of His presence, and no voice from 
the sanctuary speaks to man of his social duties or 
spiritual wants. 

The institution of social worship is the embodiment of 
the public idea of God and His Providence; and it is 
a fixed and permanent centre, from which moral in- 
fluences radiate in every direction. It forms the citizen 
as well as the Christian. It has a power to wake up 
in the soul a sentiment of its true good, and give it 
objects of thought and interest, which lie beyond and 
above the world of sense. In every Christian temple, 
stands the Pulpit, representing the ministry of Christ, 
6 



42 



the Divine Teacher. How grievously this ministry, 
in the hands of men, has fallen short of its great aims ; 
how unworthy it has been and is, of its sublime objects, 
I need not say. Whatever may be the organ of its 
utterance, still the pulpit is the visible sign of a com- 
munication of God with human souls. Here is the 
Gospel of reconciliation, peace, hope ; here is the 
representative of divine truth, light and wisdom and 
mercy. You come up here from the fiery trials and 
temptations of the business world ; from scenes of 
pleasure or pain ; from the conflicts and vexations of 
many-colored life ; from glad homes or sorrowful 
homes ; from the sufferings of want and the dangers 
of wealth : and here you may find a power to bear and 
a power to resist. Miserably formal and heartless must 
be the ministration of the pulpit, if it has not a word 
of life for every soul that feels its weakness and wants. 
Its inspiration is the spirit of the hving God; its field 
of action is the unfathomable heart of man. All hu- 
man conditions and experiences furnish its themes. 
Life, and its ever changing aspects, its stern discipline, 
its pleasures, trials and sins, are its inexhaustible re- 
sources. Is the heart of man so dead that he cannot 
hear the voice of God in His sanctuary ? Is the Di- 
vinity hid from him, behind the symbols of His pre- 
sence ? Whether in the market-place or in the temple, 
shall he live always in the same element of worldly in- 
terest or passionate strife ? It cannot be. The moral 
power of the pulpit is felt ; and 1 believe it is destined 
to be more and more developed, as it obtains a better 
insight into the elements and laws of the soul. 

But it is not my purpose to speak of the instructions 
and warnings of the pulpit, — important as they may 
be, — but of the silent, mysterious influence of the house 



43 



of worship. Most of us have known what it is to feci a 
certain refreshment and elevation of spirit, in coming 
out of the mean tumults of the world, and the hot and 
stifling atmosphere of sin, into a scrcncr region of 
spiritual purity and peace, where all selfish and rude 
passions are hushed to repose. We have advanced in 
our religious experience. We feel that Ciod is there ; 
for there our souls are tranquil enough to hear his still 
small voice. And we go away with a deeper venera- 
tion for His character and authority. He is present 
to our consciousness in shape of a command, a princi- 
ple or a moral sentiment. The sense of His over- 
shadowing presence will give nobleness to our aims, 
and sanctity to our every-day employments ; and so 
idealise our life, that all its hard and dusty labors will 
become religious duties, instead of an unblessed sacrifice 
to the god of tliis world. The soul, thus filled with the 
sentiment of God, everywhere finds tlie aliment by 
which it lives and grows. Society, nature, books, hu- 
man life, with its ever-changing aspects, are rich in les- 
sons of truth and wisdom. Under this beneficent dis- 
cipline, man becomes temperate, faithful and humane ; 
a lover of order and justice. A profound sense of his 
relation to God makes him dutiful and beneficent 
towards all the children of God. 

II. J5ut again, the institution of public worship has 
a higher ofiice than that of preserving the decency and 
order of society. It cherishes a healthy and devout 
inward life. 

The efficacy of our religion resides not in external 
forms and ceremonies, but in its unseen spiritual en- 
ergy. It lies deep in the unfathomable soul. Its power 
and life depend upon the profoundcst sentiments and 
affections of our nature. Nevertlieless, those outward 



44 



influences, which open our hearts to impressions of in- 
visible reahty, naturally dispose us to meditate seriously 
upon the great objects of faith. A house of worship, 
standing in its calm and holy seclusion, in the midst of 
our homes and places of business, and scenes of joy and 
grief and temptation, speaks to us continually of the 
ideal and infinite ; of God to whom it is so nearly re- 
lated. 

God, indeed, needeth not a house made by men's 
hands. The whole universe is His temple, filled and 
rejoicing with His presence. But men do need 
such edifices to touch their imagination and their 
sensibility. Venerable to the soul is the house conse- 
crated to the expression of devout sentiment. If you 
would feel the whole power of the " genius of the 
place," go into it alone, on a day when there is no gath- 
ering of the congregation ; and if you have never had a 
rehgious emotion before, you will feel it now. There is 
a savor of Holiness and Divinity in the place. Its si- 
lence overawes you ; its sublime associations subdue 
your soul to reverence as you walk along the solemn 
aisles. How different are these emotions from any 
thing you feel when you enter a common lecture room 
or hall of justice. Such feelings as these we should 
carefully cherish, not at the time of our Sabbath wor- 
ship only, but all our days ; and wherever we go, let 
them go with us to guard the sanctity of our souls from 
the vanity and earthliness that would desecrate it. 

We should not think lightly of a holy ministration to 
any faculty of our nature. Imagination, taste, the sen- 
timent of beauty, all have their offices in our spiritual 
culture. Why should not piety avail itself of the law 
of association, which can be turned to account for 
every meaner purpose ? If great men and great deeds 



45 



of other times may perpetuate their influence by festal 
days and monumental structures associated willi their 
memory, wliy sliould not rehgion also Ijave its sacred 
phices, where reverence may adore, and gratitude kin- 
dle, and devotion bring its holiest otlerings, — where 
Christ dwells in the emblems of his death-sacrifice, and 
God in the altar of His worship, — where the wounded 
soul may give utterance to the sorrows of repentance, 
or seek Divine relief in its heart-breaking agony ? 
Religion has a voice and a power in every house of 
God, where the teachings of His wisdom and the mes- 
sages of His love have often waked our profoundest 
sensibilities. It needs no deep insight into the laws of 
the soul to know that vital piety derives much of its 
j)Ower and blessedness from its hold on the imagina- 
tion. It will not do to strip it of all those significant 
symbols, which are the clothing of the religious idea, and 
leave it naked and shivering in the cold domain of in- 
tellect. Religion belongs to the heart. " With the 
heart man believeth unto righteousness." The fiiculty 
of understanding is adecjuate to form the theologian 
but to form the Christian it is not adequate. A higher 
wisdom than can be comprehended in logic forms is 
imj)art('d through direct impressions upon the soul. 
There nuist be institutions and onhiiances to nourish 
the sentiment of piety, and keep alive the genial warmth 
of the heart. The house of worship is a conspicuous 
and venerable memorial of God, — a Book of Divine 
Revelations, — lifted u|) on high, that "he who runs 
may read," though he is (lisj)osed to read nothing else. 
It is a point round which the religious associations of 
every little community of believers cluster and grow, 
and a power goes forth from it to " touch to healtliful 
issues " tlie deepest springs of life. 



46 



III. And again, I would speak, in this connexion, of 
the worship of the sanctuary as the sign of pubUc rev- 
erence. 

This is the seminal principle of all true piety, with- 
out which the sense of duty is a bondage, and the fear 
of God an abject superstition, — utterly incapable of 
generous enthusiasm, or of a cheerful and filial worship. 
Reverence belongs to pure and noble souls ; it is the re- 
sult of that higher religious experience which changes a 
mean, slavish passion into one of the sublimest of human 
emotions. It is the humiUty by which man is exalted. 
To revere God is to appreciate and love goodness in 
its last perfection. It implies some worthy conceptions 
of a Spiritual Being mightier than ourselves, to whom 
we are attracted by a holy and mysterious sympathy. 
Man becomes " One with God " when he enters into 
spiritual union with Him, and is able to recognise His 
presence in his own consciousness. Then he has a true 
veneration for His law. His character and His authority. 

The house of public worship is a visible expression 
of this sentiment, and it also re-acts upon it and keeps 
it alive in the heart of society. It constantly reminds 
the young of the near presence of the Infinite Father, 
to whom they see the good and the wise every- 
where doing grateful homage. The spirit of rever- 
ence communicates itself by natural sympathy from 
heart to heart. They feel its power in the sanctuary, 
and thenceforth the place is holy, — " none other than 
the house of God, — the Gate of Heaven." It goes 
with them into their working day employments, and 
sheds over them all the beauty of holiness. This coarse 
and ill-favored life is transfigured with a Divine glory. 
" Old things have passed away, behold all things be- 
come new." They ascend to a higher point of vision, 



47 



and lo, a new Heaven and a new Earth." The visihlc 
creation is all radiant with God's presence ; the serene 
skies, the growing of })iants, the hcauty and fragrance of 
flowers, the murmur of water-courses, the many voiced 
music of birds, all have a deep significance for the 
spiritual worshipper. All goodly sights and melodious 
sounds reveal the present Father. The Divinity breathes 
over him in the cool summer wind, descends in refresh- 
ing showers, shines down upon him in the bright, warm 
sun. The universe is full of holy mystery, and in the 
midst of its grandeur and beauty, under the shadow of 
God, he walks witli reverent lowliness ; and the spirit of 
mockery and unbelief, of contempt and hate, finds no 
place in his bosom. " He dwcUeth in God," and there- 
fore " dwclletli in love," for " God is Love." 

The homage which the soul pays to goodness is its 
greatest action. It raises man into communion and 
sympathy with what he reveres, and he becomes par- 
taker of its nature. By humbling himself before the 
Highest, he is exalted. The attril)utcs he adores, he 
a])propriatcs. He seeks instruction from above. He 
listens reverently to the Divine will, which everywhere 
finds utterance in manifold voices of wisdom and truth. 
By his deep veneration of the holy and the perfect he is 
new-created in the Divine Image. He respects the 
nature which God gave him too highly to debase it by 
meanness or sensuality. He would keep the great 
trust unblemished, that he may render it back in fault- 
less i)eauty. He has entered into spiritual union with 
God, and become godlike in virtue ; above all things 
he loves and honors truth, benevolence, justice, and 
strong-hearted j)rinciple. Tiiis reverent sj)irit gives 
sanctity and elevation to a conmiunity, where God is 
honored in the sacred symbols of His worsiiij). 



48 



A wise people will nourish this sentiment in the heart 
of society, by all those institutions and significant acts 
which are adapted to give it fit expression. In every 
town and city, so far as its means will justify, let the 
resources of wealth and taste be drawn forth to embody 
in forms of visible beauty, the true idea of worship. 
Let the temple rise ever, in the midst of our dwellings 
and scenes of labor, bearing impressive testimony, that 
God is here, reigning in the hearts and lives of a faith- 
ful people. And let the spire reach upward as if it 
would lose itself in the silent Heavens. The lofty 
steeple and solemn tower, unknown to classical antiquity, 
represent a great idea of our religion. They intimate 
the aspirations of the soul after the infinite ; they are 
signs of its relation to absolute and Eternal Being. — 
They are not the mere outward decoration of a church, 
but an expressive language to those who can ascend 
by faith to the height of the spiritual fact they repre- 
sent, leading their minds up to the region of illimitable 
thought, activity and progress in the bosom of Infinite 
Goodness and Love. They are the ladder in the vis- 
ion of the patriarch of elder time, on which the Angels 
of the Divine Presence are ascending and descending. 
I can easily believe what is told us of the awe and 
veneration excited by the grandeur of ecclesiastical 
architecture in the old world. The vast Cathedrals, 
the paintings, the statues, the strains of sublime music 
which appeal so touchingly to the imagination and af- 
fections, seem to have had their origin in a profound 
insight into the wants and laws of the soul. We can- 
not transplant this exotic magnificence into the soil of 
New-England ; we would not if we could. For not- 
withstanding its power of inspiring devout and rever- 
ential emotions, it would do violence to our habits of 



49 



thouiilit und feeling. It seems to us to be too wide a 
departure from the simplicity of C'hri.st. May it not, 
however, serve as a striking illustration of the aid, 
which art may give to the impressions of truth, by 
speaking through the senses to the soul ? If w^c do not 
aim at splendor, we ought not to be satisfied with 
meanness or deformity in our sacred edifices. Bene- 
ficent and lar-sightcd is the liberality, that imparts 
grandeur or beauty to a public building, the very as- 
pect of which may alVect the character of coming gen- 
erations. This sacrifice of faith to the best interest of 
humanity, is the " casting of bread upon the waters," 
trusting that it " will return after many days." And 
the trusting spirit is not disappointed. Never has a 
generous outlay for the gratification of taste, or of a 
higher sentiment, a better apology or a richer recom- 
pense. Every noble or graceful monument of art, em- 
bodying at once the idea of religion and the soul ot 
genius, is an important and permanent aid in the spir- 
itual cultivation of a people. From the bosom of rest- 
less and passionate life, the Temple of (Jod, daily and 
hourly preaches forth its Everlasting Gospel, kindling 
the heart and tiie imagination. Its solemn stillness, 
amidst the multitudinous sounds of business, is eloquent. 
All the mightiest agencies in the Universe are mute, 
voiceless. Vet thcv remind man, in language more 
impressive than articulate sj)eech, of his spiritual rela- 
tions, which are adapted to fill his soul with humble and 
holy reverence. 

" The Heavens declare the plory of God ; 

And tlio lirinament shinvitli the work of His hands. 

Day uftcieth instruction to day, 

And iiii;ht unto nijjht slioweth knowledge. 

They have no speech, nor language. 

And their voice is not heard. 

Yet their sound goeth forth to all the earth. 

And their words to the ends of the world." 

7 



50 



IV. Again, the institution of public worship cherishes 
the sentiment of human brotherhood. 

We cannot have a true and loyal veneration for the 
Father without respecting the children whom He has 
created in His image ; He has made us of one blood ; 
we are all brethren. In the Sanctuary of His Pre- 
sence our self-exaggeration is rebuked. However 
different our conditions may be in the world, we all 
stand on the same level before the Infinite, as frail, im- 
perfect creatures ; and we cannot but feel a deep sym- 
pathy with each other. In the Catholic churches of 
the West Indies, the master and slave are found kneel- 
ing side by side on the pavement. The instinct of 
religion overleaps earthly distinctions. Our souls kin- 
dle and glow with generous love as they pour them- 
selves out in the united prayer that swells up from the 
beating heart of the great congregation. We come up 
here as disciples of one Master, children of one Father, 
looking for the same Eternal home and hope of all 
souls. 

The conditions of human life limit our intimacies to 
a narrow circle. We are occupied for the most part 
with our private affairs. Every one is " seeking his 
own," honestly it may be, in the fair and honorable 
competition of trade ; — but from the very nature of 
most worldly enterprises, somewhat selfishly. To live 
is found to be a serious business, — so serious that the 
means of living are more regarded than the end. Men 
of thrift are anxious ; they must make the most of time 
and opportunity, they are in a hurry ; they wish well to 
their neighbor, but they cannot stop to consider his 
well-being. And often their self-love is an overmatch 
for their benevolent and social feelings. Unless it is 
kept in strict subordination to the nobler sentiments, 



.51 



care, anxiety and the desire of gain will destroy or 
greatly narrow down their kindly sympathies. To love 
their neighhor as themselves is found to be the most 
difficult of duties; brotherly kindness and charity have 
no definite meaning. Such is the tendency of the 
modern system of society to separate men widely from 
each others' sympathy and regard — a tendency which, 
undoubtedly may be, and often is successfully re- 
sisted; for the soul of a true man is superior to all cir- 
cumstances. 

There is a tendency, moreover, in the artificial dis- 
tinctions of society, in fashion, in wealth and poverty, 
knowledge and ignorance, to destroy the feeling of the 
brotherhood of man. Nowhere perhaps has this ten- 
dency been more strongly developed than in our own 
country and time. We reject all claims to consider- 
ation founded on hereditary rank, but the way is open 
for every kind of ambitious pretension to put itself for- 
ward not less oilensively. Besides, the too eager |)Hr- 
suit of wealth, and the conflicts and scrambles of j)olit- 
ical parties, keep society in a state of hot fermentation, 
and bring into activity all the meanest and most disso- 
cial passions. There is danger that a man's best social 
feelings will languish for want of exercise, when he 
comes every day into contact with so much that he is 
inclined to hate or fear. 

Christianity places us in another and higher point of 
view. It contemplates man as a soul in his undying 
nature and spiritual relations. It sees nothing high and 
nothing low save what rises out of our own character. 
The only greatness it acknowledges is greatness of 
soul. Every good man is great in the kingdom of 
Heaven — great only through his virtues, sacrifices and 
disinterested services to his kind. We are all of one 



52 



family, of one rank. " He that is greatest among us 
is the servant of all." This is the lesson of the meek 
and lowly Jesus, and it is perpetually repeated through 
the institutions which visibly embody his idea. 

But whatever we may look to as an ideal of society ; 
we can never hope to see actual equality in the world. 
The constitution of nature and of man forbid it. The 
relation of inferior and superior is natural and intrinsic. 
Men are made for different labors and functions, and 
accordingly with different endowments. They can no 
more be equal in wisdom and greatness, than in strength 
and stature. Besides, by the law of our being we strive 
against such equality ; we endeavor to raise ourselves 
above the common level of humanity ; we would banish, 
if possible, our sense of inherent littleness by obtaining 
a great position. After all, our outward condition must 
be unequal, as it is commonly the result of different hab- 
its, activities and powers. The problem then is, how to 
banish the evils of inequalittj and make the best of that 
which no human arrangements can ever do away ? 
How shall we prevent pride and scorn, envy and hatred, 
from springing up to embitter social life and set man 
against man, and class against class, in mean jealousy 
or angry contention ? No power can do this but the 
power of love. 

When we habitually unite in the exercises of a reli- 
gion, whose central principle is universal love, these 
jarring dissonances will cease ; and we shall hear angel 
voices proclaiming " peace on earth and good will 
among men." The spirit of Christ subdues all discor- 
dant passions, and under his gentle dominion, there is 
the divine harmony of pure souls. We may cherish 
his spirit of justice and humanity by coming often to- 
gether, as his disciples, and bowing humbly before his 



53 



Fatlior and ours in His Temple where all earthly vanities 
anchlistinctions sink into nothing in view of Infinite re- 
alities. Here we shall learn to see ourselves as God sees 
us; and the i'alse, the artificial, and the conventional 
will be stripped of their vain pretensions, and appear 
as poor and trivial as they really are. A\ e are told that 
when the ancient Christian emperors of Rome were 
about to enter a church, they laid aside the pomp and 
splendor of royalty, dismissed their <:uards and stood, 
as little children, before the Infinite Ruler, on a level 
with His lowliest worshippers. 

This abdication of earthly grandeur before God is the 
recognition of a great truth ; we are all equal in his 
sight ; we stand in this sacred place alike frail, erring 
creatures ; all pretension seems impious. This house 
belongs to the Father of all, who sees nothing great 
on earth, but what He owns as such in Heaven, — a 
great and heroic soul. AVhile we are before Him hum- 
bly seeking pardon and life, we obtain a deeper sense 
of the utter unfitness of pride, contempt, and envy and 
all uncharitableness, for such beings as we are. We 
learn to respect and love our fellow-man, as man ; and 
these external circumstances and trappings, which have 
too often been matter/ of vain-gloryings and fierce 
heart-burnings, are divested of all their factitious impor- 
tance. AVe are willing that another should rise above 
us by the intrinsic force of his natural superiority ; and 
we feel no contempt for the inferior. Nor can we hate 
or scorn a wandering, guilty brother; all human con- 
ditions, all human experiences, are interesting to us. 
Whatever concerns the well-being of a man is our con- 
cern ; if one member sutlers, all the members sulfer 
with it. We feel that we are bound up, for weal or 
woe, with the destinies and hopes of humanity. We 



54 



would not [separate ourselves from the great family. 
We learn to be helpful to one another. Our hearts 
yearn towards every human being because we see in 
him a brother — a child of God, created with capacities 
for great thought, great action and illimitable progress. 
And even in the lowest debasement to which sensuality 
and vice may have reduced him, he is still a man, bear- 
ing about him some portion of the Father's image 
though sullied and dishonored. Such fallen creatures 
Jesus came to redeem. He wept for them, prayed for 
them, died for them ; but he never hated, never de- 
spised them, — never despaired of them. He saw more 
hope in the Pubhcan than in the Pharisee. He 
" preached glad tidings to the poor, proclaimed deliv- 
erance to the captive, bound up the broken-hearted, 
called sinners to repentance." And here, in this house 
of his Father and ours, we would fill our souls with his 
divine spirit of love and pity. We would earnestly 
endeavor to feel the force of two great lessons taught 
by his pure and perfect life ; — the one is, never to 
hate, — the other, never to scorn any living creature 
of God. The first is comparatively easy ; the second 
more difficult, but not impossible. 

What cruel wrong is often done to humanity by 
harsh and insulting denunciations ! Cannot we bear a 
little while with those, whom the Father has borne with 
so long ? " Shall mortal man be more just than 
God, — stricter to mark iniquity, — swifter to punish ? 
Here under the shadow of His sublime presence, we 
gladly receive the lessons of that divine charity which 
"suffereth long and is kind, which beareth all things, 
hopeth all things." We would look with profound 
sensibility upon a fallen man, discerning in him some- 
thing that lies deeper than his folly and sin ; for under 



55 



these moral ruins are hidden the ru(Hnicnts of a jjjreat 
soul, — buried, but not dead. We must not hate him 
nor despise him, — CJod's workmanship, our brother, — 
for the man may outlive the sin that has so desecrated 
a noble nature. Some word of life may yet touch his 
heart, and save him from " the second death." IMel- 
ancholy indeed is the ruin of an inmiortal man ; but 
more venerable still in his fallen grandeur than the 
ruins of an ancient temple, upon whose defaced and 
broken columns the traveller gazes with mournful ad- 
miration. 

V. Finally, the worship of the visible sanctuary is an 
expressive sign of the worship of an invisible sanctu- 
ary holier than itself. 

" Know ye not that ye fire the Temple of God, and 
that the Spirit of God dwelleth in you?" The wor- 
ship He most delights in is the humble prayer of faith, — 
the yearning of the devout soul for union with the in- 
dwelling Father. The kingdom of God comcth not 
with observation ; it is within you ; it has no visible 
throne. Wherever divine truth has touched and sanc- 
tified a living heart, there is the seat of His dominion. 
There He reigns by the everlasting constitution of 
the soul. And there is His temple, where He listens 
to the inaudible breathings of inward piety. The most 
acceptable sacrifice is a religious heart and an upright 
life, — the sacrifice of passion, pride and self-will to 
our sense of duty, — the " crucifying of ourselves unto 
the world and the world unto us." In that living Tem- 
ple, the deepest emotions of our hearts, in their remorse, 
or sorrow, or rapt devotion, are uttered in the ear 
of the Father alone. The sincerost and holiest of 
all worship is direct. It seeks no earthly channel of 
communication. The finite spirit mingles in closest 



56 



union with the very spirit of God ; in the bosom of the 
Infinite is its home and rest. And not in tones audible 
to mortal ear do its deepest feelings obtain utterance ; 
the stranger intermeddJeth not with them ; — they have 
found no articulate speech. " The spirit makes inter- 
cession within with groanings which cannot be uttered." 

To such secret communings, that can be trusted to 
no third mind, are the children of God admitted. We 
may trust God with secrets of the heart, which may not 
be trusted to our dearest friend. The pure soul dwells 
in His sanctuary " a priest after the order of Mel- 
chisedeck," ordained to a diviner worship than that of 
the Hebrew pontiff', when he entered the Holy of Ho- 
lies with the sacred emblems of office. The individual 
man does not lose himself in masses and congrega- 
tions ; for himself must he worship. Whether he is in 
the field, the market-place, the church, or in the closet 
with the door shut, the purest, freest offering comes 
ever from the sacred retirement of his soul. He stands 
as if alone with God in the universe, — not a part, 
not a fraction of a society, — but a whole, — an indis- 
tructible unit, existing for his own sake, and working 
out of his own being, amidst these shadows of tune 
and the smoke and dust of the finite world, his portion 
of the Eternal and Infinite Good. 

The visible Temple then is the representative of 
something greater and better than itself. And he who 
ministers at its altar can be no more than the organ of 
your worship. He can he nothing, he can do nothing 
for you, unless he is one with you in sympathy, giving 
true expression to wants and emotions which you and 
he feel in common. Not for you, but with you, must 
he strive to give utterance to the inarticulate cry of the 
soul for relief in its spiritual sorrow or darkness. And 



57 



the j)ul{)it, — an important clement in the institntions 
of Cliristianity, — is but " your helper in the truth." It 
may give you light and truth and w arnini:, l)ut it can- 
not do the work of your souls. It cannot bring peace 
to the unrepentant sinner, nor deliverance to those who 
love their bondage. 

It is not enough that we build and consecrate a 
house for sacred purposes. Not here alone must we 
seek the Divinity ; in the secrecy of our souls we nuist 
find a holier temple, where our worship is in spirit 
and in trudi. This inward worship is more spiritual 
than any outward act; for it brings us into divine 
sympathy with the Father. It is the " baptism of the 
Holy Spirit." " the pure in heart shall see God." He 
is here ; above, around, within you. Him your hearts 
worship, not as a distant being throned in the far-olV 
Heavens, w ithout love or providential care of his crea- 
tures. O no ; the irrepressible instincts of the soul cry 
out for the Living God. " Like a lost child, wandering 
and weeping in unknown tumults," it is alone in the 
midst of crowds, and longs to find its Father. And it 
finds Him, ever near, inexpressibly dear, blessing it with 
the boundlessness of His love. 

"Ye are the Temple of God and His spirit dwelleth 
in you." Only as you contain Him, — the Uncontain- 
able, in your very heart, does He exist for you. \ ou 
know, you revere, you love so much of Him as you 
have taken up into your being, and made one with 
your inward life. Only as you have experience of the 
harmony of your spirit with the Divine Spirit, is there 
any true life abiding in you. Without this reverent 
feeling of His nearness, this devout surrender of your 
mind and will, heart and life to Him, you have no God 
in the world, nor true worship. In your public services 
8 



58 



there may bo the sign but not the thiag signified, — " the 
form of Godhness, but not the hfe or power tliereof." 
You may build churches and adorn them with all the 
beauty of ancient and modern art, but there is no di- 
vinity to hallow them, unless He finds a holier dwelling 
there in the souls of His worshippers. 

If you walk with Him in faith, fee| His presence, 
love, adore and obey, then do you worship Him in the 
inmost Holy of Holies, where He ever makes the 
brighest revelations of his love. There to all holy 
souls, in the hour of inspired devotion, does " He man- 
ifest himself as He does not unto the world." Never 
is the good man so strong, so great, so free, as when he 
humbles himself before the Father with fihal trust and 
lowliest self-abasement. 

And now to the Father of lights and of mercies, — 
to his blessed Son and Representative, through whom 
God was manifest in the flesh to take away the sins of 
the world, — and to the Holy Spirit, the Saoctifier 
and Comforter of souls, we dedicate this house which 
our hands have builded. We dedicate it to the same 
feelipgs and associations that hallow the place, to 
which you, and your fathers before you, have so long 
come up to worship. We rejoice to see it risen from 
the foundations of our time-honored sanctuary, a sign 
of the " repairing of old wastes in Zion." For it 
would grieve us sorely to see the ravages of decay 
upon the walls of God's house. " May the glory of 
this latter house be greater than the glory of the 
former." Here may we obtain a deeper sense of the 
significance, power, and inexpressible worth of sacred 
institutions and ordinances ; may we feel also, that the 
soul is greater than all its instruments and aids. Here 
may our public worship become ever dearer and dearer 



59 



to UP, as it becomes a truer expression of tlic holier 
worsiiip ill our iiearts. 

To this sublime liomage of ali pure souls, which the 
Father makes His chosen cl\vclling-i)lace, we solemnly 
consecrate this house. We consecrate it to the com- 
munications of Divine Wisdom and Truth, — to a 
ministration of justice and order, of grace and love, of 
charity and mercy and peace. We consecrate it to 
tlie highest interests of the great brotherhood of man, — 
to the redemption of souls from sin by the Gospel of 
tlie crucified and risen Christ,— to the blessed hope 
and promise of hnniOTtal Life, and to the pure worship 
of tlie One Living God. 

«' Thou who (lost prefer 
Before all Temples, the upright tieart aiul pure," 

deign to accept the gift. May Thy presence bless it. 
May Thy spirit hallow it. May a true religious loyalty 
bind us ever to thy worship and service. To us and 
our children and our children's children may the j)lace 
be holy. Here may we "dwell in the secret place of 
the INlost High, and abide under the shadow of tlie 
Almighty." Here may we commune with the Father 
in the Invisible Temple of our souls, where is the altar 
of holiest sacrifice, with its sacred fire evermore burn- 



ORDER OF SERVICES 

AT THE 

DEDICATION OF THE NEW CHURCH, 

ERECTED BY THE 

FIRST CONGREGATIONAL SOCIETY IN MEDFORD, 
DECEMBER 4, 1839. 



Voluntary on the Organ. 
II. Anthem. 



The Lord is King, and hath put on glorious ap- 

And girded himself with strength ; [paiel, 

He hath made the round world so sure 

That it cannot be moved — 

Ever since the world began hath thy seat been 

prepared, 
Thou art from everlasting — 
The floods are risen, O Lord, 

III. Introductory Prayer, By Rev. JVathaniel Hall. 

IV. Selection from the Scriptures, By Rev. Edward B. Hall. 

V. Original Hymn, By Rev. JVathaniel Hall. 



The floods lift up their voice, 

'I'he floods lift up tlieir waves — 

The waves of the sea are mighty, and rage hor- 

But yet the Lord that dwelleth on high, I9 

mightier — 
Holiness becometh thy house forever and ever — 

Amen. 



This house that we have builded, Lord, 

We yield it unto thee ; 
Come, and thy glorious name record — 

I'hou, who art purity ! 
Our ready offering we surround. 

And lift our eyes above ; 
Now, let accepting grace be found — 

I'hou, who art also, love ! 
O, ever, here, may waiting hearts 

Receive the quick'ning fire ; 
May all of hope thy word imparts, 

tach worshipper inspiie. 
Here be the world's attractions dim. 

Its gold appear but dross. 



While kneeling faith contemplates Him 

Who hung upon the cross. 
Here may His cross its wonders prove ; — 

The slumbering spirit slir, 
The burden and the fear remove, 

And bring tlie Comforter ; 
Impart a new and conquering strength 

To every noble aim ; 
And make the spirit one, at length, 

With Him from whom it came. 
And thus, again, to Him supreme, 

Long-hallowed spot ! Ihou'it given ; 
Thus, while the stars above thee beam, 

Be thou the gate of heaven ! 



VI. Prayer of Dedication, By Rev. Converse Francis, D. D. 
VIZ. Hymn. 



O, bow thine ear. Eternal One ! 

On Thee our heart adoring calls ; 
To Thee the followers of thy Son 

Have raised and now devote these walls. 



From contrite hearts and lips sincere, 
lUse on the still and holy air. 

And when the lips, that with Thy name 
Are vocal now, to dust shall turn, 

On others may ilevntion's flame 
Be kindled here, and purely burn. 



Here may Thine honor dwell ; and here. 
As incense, let 'i'hy children's prayer, 

VIII. Sermon, By Rev. Caleb Stetson. 

IX. Original Hymn, By Rev. William H. Furness. 



To the High and Holy One — 
To His Spirit, to His Son, 
To the sacred hope of heaven. 
Through our Lord and Savior given, 
To the truth that makes us free, 
To the Light that leads to Thee, 
We this temple dedicate. 
And Thy blessing, Lord, await. 
Canst Thou be approached by men ? 
Angels, and archangels, when 



God his brightness on them sheds, 
Veil ihier faces, bow their heads. 
Yet, wo know, O God, Thou art 
Present in the lowly heart ; 
There will He descend and reign. 
Whom the Heavens cannot contain, 
in our hearts Thy temple rear ; 
Let that glory there appear 
Which shall cause this place to shine 
With a beauty all divine. 



X. Concluding Prayer, By Rev. JST. Frothingham, D. D. 
XI. Anthem. 



And will the great eternal God 
On earth establish His abode? 
And will He from His radiant throne 
Avow our temples as His own? 
These walls we to 'i'hy honor raise? 
Long may they echo to 'J'hy praise — 
And Thou, descending, (ill the place 
With 'jhoicesl tokens of Thy grace. 

XII. 



Here let the great Redeemer reign, 
With all the glories of His train; 
Whilst power divine His word attends. 
To conquer foes iind cheer His friends. 
Great King of glory come, and with Thy favor 

crown 
This temple as Thy dome — this people as Thy 
own. Amen. 

Benediction. 



